Page 26 of My Sexy Rival (Stars In Their Eyes 2)
The trainer was waiting for me by the front desk, a smile on his goateed face. “Pelly Howland, pleasure to meet you.”
“William Oliver. And I assure you, the pleasure is all mine,” I said, and his eyes stayed on mine at first, then he noticed the Hollywood Breakdown in my hand, the Bluetooth in my ear, and the English accent I’d come equipped with. Not that an accent proved anything in this town, but for some reason, it worked like a fucking charm when you needed someone to think you were trustworthy.
Because after thirty minutes and a few carefully dropped hints that made me seem like a WAM insider, too, my abs were quite sore, and my ears were getting a workout, too.
Pelly the Goateed Trainer was like a windup doll. Crank him up and watch him go. All I had to do was feed him bits and pieces of Hollywood insider intel, and his mouth moved. I dropped names left and right that Jess had mentioned over the last few days.
“You think Emily Hannigan would make a good Gretchen Lindstrom in the We’ll Always Have Paris remake?” I asked as he made me work my obliques.
“She’d be fantastic, but not opposite Ren Canton.”
“Who, then? Someone like Nick Ballast?” I offered in my best casual, offhand tone as we moved onto crunches.
He scoffed, but it was marked with a laugh. “No. Nick is too young for that role.”
“He’s one of your clients, right?”
Pelly nodded proudly as he held down my ankles. “He is. Damn proud of that kid. He was just cast as a college freshman on a TV show that starts shooting in Vancouver in twelve days.”
I mentally pumped a fist, but outwardly kept my cool. “That so? I heard Jenner Davies got Nick’s role on The Weekenders.”
“He’s my client, too,” Pelly said, and damn, all I had to do was drop a name, and he picked it right up and bragged about it.
“Nick must have been bummed.”
Pelly shook his head, and mouthed no.
“No?” I whispered in question.
“Nope,” Pelly said quietly in a conspiratorial tone. “Nick booked the TV show last week. He wouldn’t have been able to do both. The movie shoots here. And the TV show shoots in Canada.”
The lights went off. The buzzer beeped. The slot machine played its jackpot tune.
“Ironic that Jenner got the part, then,” I mused, going fishing for more. Pelly, it seemed, took the easy bait. So far, I’d pegged him right. He fancied himself a player, some sort of rising power broker.
“Ironic,” Pelly said, a note of pride in his voice as he tapped the side of his head. “Or just smart thinking.”
“Matchmaking, eh? That’s what makes this world go round.”
“Yes, it does,” Pelly said, and then offered me his hand. “Time for squats.”
I counted down until the hour was up. Not because the workout was hard. But because I was dying to tell Jess that our Goateed Trainer Boy was the missing link.
* * *
Jess
* * *
After a few hours of homework and rampant phone checking, a message came through that William was at a gym and to meet him two blocks away from it by the Santa Monica Pier. The gym was one I’d told him about as a prime paparazzo hangout. I was proud of him for learning the tricks of my trade so quickly.
I packed up my books, popped into the bathroom for a speedy brushing of the teeth—this time I wanted fresh breath for kissing, not for food resistance— and hopped on my scooter to zip west. Twenty minutes later, I found a fast parking spot and locked up my ride. I waved to William as I walked toward him, even though I wanted to launch myself at him since he looked insanely hot leaning against a nearby parking meter, wearing workout clothes—a gray T-shirt and blue nylon shorts. They fit him well, and showed off his strong arms and strong legs, and made my mind trip back to last night because I knew what was inside those shorts. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to dip my hands beneath the waistband again. I did want to touch him again. He’d felt amazing, and looked so sexy on my couch with his pants down. Actually, I wanted to do more than touch him again. I wanted to know what he tasted like. And there went a hot spark through my body.
Like a shooting star burning me up.
“Hey,” I said, trying to sound neutral, as if that would tamp down the lust clouding my brain.
“Hey to you. How was your day?”
“Um. Fine. Yours?”
“It was shitty this morning because my uncle is an ass and there’s no chance he’s going to hire me,” he said.
My heart fell for him. I knew how much he wanted that job. “I’m sorry. That really sucks.”
